


I'll be your optimistic black hole

by awwcoffeenooooo



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Barista Rey (Star Wars), Coffee Shops, Emo Kylo Ren, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Hot Topic, I feel like the more I tag this the more surreal it comes so I'm just going to stop now, Snowed In, Starbucks, crackish, god you have no idea how much fun this was to write, so many tropes tossed in a blender
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-19
Updated: 2018-04-29
Packaged: 2019-04-04 14:35:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14022375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/awwcoffeenooooo/pseuds/awwcoffeenooooo
Summary: Here are the things Rey knows about Hot Topic Guy:He’s your stereotypical overgrown emo kid. Probably still sobs when he hears MCR’s G note, smearing that healthy amount of eyeliner that makes him look decidedly unhealthy. His jeans are always skinny and ripped and tucked into Doc Martens or over a pair of Converse. And he’s always got either a flannel or band tee or a combination of the two on his tall, lanky body.He’s also pretty futzing weird. And that takes a lot, coming from Rey.Or:Ben loves guyliner, Rey's your not-so-average barista, and a snowstorm decides it's time for the world's most awkward sleepover.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> so if anyone wonders what i've been up to this weekend, imma just flash them this. i had far too much fun writing ben as an emo . . . . which is not *unsimilar* to myself . . . . *coughs awkwardly* 
> 
> please enjoy :)

Here are the things Rey knows about Hot Topic Guy:

 

He’s your stereotypical overgrown emo kid. Probably still sobs when he hears MCR’s G note, smearing that healthy amount of eyeliner that makes him look decidedly unhealthy. His jeans are always skinny and ripped and tucked into Doc Martens or over a pair of Converse. And he’s got always got either a flannel or band tee or a combination of the two on his tall, lanky body.

 

He’s also pretty futzing weird. And that takes a lot, coming from Rey. 

 

Sure, she should probably be one of the judgy baristas stationed behind the local Starbucks counter, making frappes and coffees in case her Instagram model account doesn’t work out the way she hopes. But she’s not. She’s plain old Rey, with a cat for a best friend and a Finn if that doesn’t count. Spent more than a year living on what she now realizes was likely a hippie commune when she was nineteen. It takes a lot for her to call someone strange, let alone flat out weird. 

 

But yeah. He sort of fits it. He alternates between awkward stuttering at the counter when he dares to duck in for a caffeine fix and cold indifference. She wonders if he’s shy at first, but scowls later when he all but snaps at poor Rose for mixing up his order.

 

Rey’s torn between hating him and feeling sorry for him. He’s always alone, except for the occasions that she’s walked by Hot Topic itself and seen him glaring daggers at a red headed employee. So, no, not many friends, either. Unless his pals just never happen to drop by his store, or get coffee with him, or catch rides to work together. 

 

But he’s also a prick. And that’s something that Rey won’t stand for. 

 

So when his long legs stalk into Starbucks at half past ten on Monday morning, she of course makes a point to grin her brightest grin possible. 

 

“Good morning!” she chirps, summoning every ounce of pep in her to make her voice cheery and just an edge too grating. It works, evidently, as he scowls at her. 

 

Ah, it’s one of those days then, she thinks. 

 

“What can I get for you?” she continues, keeping her voice and smile oblivious. 

 

He heaves a tight sigh. “Just a coffee. Black,”

 

Trying not to raise an eyebrow -- who the hell walks into a Starbucks for just a straight black coffee? -- she taps the corresponding keys. “No cream, sir? Just black?”

 

“As my soul,” he mutters, and Rey doesn’t hesitate to shoot him a flat look. She’s supposed to ask. Don’t blame her -- blame the system.

 

And of course he uses literally the oldest line in the book, hands down. 

 

But she regains her cheery demeanor, giving him a grin she’s sure shows her dimples. “Of course.” Rey rattles off the price, swipes the card he hands her, and slides him the receipt. “Have a nice day.”

 

He grunts something in reply -- perhaps a ‘you too,’ though she can’t be sure -- and stalks over to wait near the pick up counter. 

 

Rey takes her time, or at least as much as she reasonably can, prepping his cup. It’s been weeks since he started coming in, but she still hasn’t yet to ask his name. Or, at the very least, his real name. Kylo isn’t a true name, and Rey will fight you on this. But after two weeks of asking for his name for the order, and not receiving any reply other than an unimpressed and flat ‘Kylo,’ she’s learned to just write it anyway. Somehow, she doesn’t think he would appreciate it very much if she pried. 

 

“Black coffee for the dark lord,” she drawls, setting it on the counter with a sunny smile. Or smirk. Quite honestly, she sometimes doesn’t know if there’s a difference between the two expressions on her. 

 

He offers her a small, unamused smile, then snags his coffee and heads for the door. Rey watches him go.

 

* * *

 

Hot Topic Guy (Rey still adamantly refuses to call the guy Kylo. Sue her. Or don’t. She has a cat to feed) continues coming in on especially crowded shopping days for his straight black coffee. He has a knack for timing it to the point that there’s hardly anyone in her shop, and so of course Rey takes her time. Coffee’s just a more socially acceptable form of liquid courage, she’s found. And after seeing the constant trail of teenagers in various cringe stages filtering in and out of ‘Topic, she decides he’s got enough of a reason for it.

 

But really, she’d take more pity on him if he didn’t look like every kid she saw in there. Not that she’s got anything against it -- she’d had many days spent under eyeliner and beanies herself when she was younger -- but just the fact that he also has to act like an edgy twelve year old. It’s tiring, is all. 

 

Summer turns into fall, and in between copious amounts of pumpkin spiced everything, Rey still catches sight of Hot Topic Guy. Thanksgiving rolls around, and with it Black Friday, and Rey’s of course stuck working the early morning shift because she’s too nice to make Poe or Finn or Rose do it when they’ve got actual family. So of course HTG has to come in, and of course seeing him is the highlight of Rey’s morning. 

 

Not because it’s him. But rather because today he is the very definition of ‘just rolled out of bed.’

 

Apparently being summoned to work at four in the morning takes a toll on your eyeliner and hair. Because there’s not a smudge of black in sight, and Rey doesn’t think the guy got the memo about a hair brush. It’s almost heartbreaking when she realizes his flannel is flipped inside out. 

 

She makes his tall a venti and calls it an accident. 

 

If she notices he actually has very nice eyes with very long lashes, that’s neither here nor there. 

 

* * *

 

December comes in with storm after storm, painting the town white and barring shut the doors of pretty much every building. Schools call Christmas break a week early, the local shelter fills up with both people from the streets and those who can’t afford heating, and the plows are being run nearly day and night. 

 

By January, Rey finds herself faithfully manning the mall’s little Starbucks with the radio tuned the local weather station. It’s a mess outside, to say the least, and it’s not too long before her phone pings.  

 

“I’m calling it, Rey,” he tells her, voice stern because he just knows her that well. Rey does her best and will fight tooth and nail to get there. Poe loves it, but isn’t about to put up with it right now. “Roads are bad, buses are closed, they’ve already called the schools for tomorrow. Just pack it up and head home,”

 

She sighs. “It’s really not that big of a deal, Poe. Just a bit of snow,”

 

“Yeah, well, your ‘bit of snow’ just caused a fifteen car pileup on the ‘94. People can live to see another day without their lattes. Just head home,”

 

“Fine,” Rey cedes, already grabbing her coat. No one’s been in for the past forty minutes or so, anyway. “I’ll text you when I get home,”

 

“Good enough for me, sunshine,”

 

Her nose crinkles, and she’s about to shoot back a rather colorful remark, but Poe’s already hung up. Damn him. 

 

The snow’s already accumulated well past the heel of her boot on the once freshly paved sidewalk by the time she makes it outside. It crunches softly, barely audible over the billowing wind. 

 

It’s almost enough to feel suffocated in the milky whiteness of the world around her. Rey knows as well as anyone that it’s easy to get lost. But she pulls her scarf tighter around her neck, sets her chin down, and continues her path toward her little car. 

 

Her plans of breaking for the driver’s seat are dashed by the inches of snow sitting atop every window. She heaves a long sigh into the wind and dumps her purse in favor of the brush she keeps in the back seat. 

 

“Fuck fuck fuck,” she mutters, trying not to let any of Satan’s frozen tears get into her jacket sleeves. She’s not successful, proven by her sopping hems by the time she makes it into the driver’s seat. 

 

Blessing the mechanical skills she’d picked up from ol’ Luke, her car starts on the first try. Of course, the heater doesn’t. But the more important one out of two is good, and Rey can deal with ten minutes of driving until she reaches her bed and cat. 

 

Her tires slip over a patch of ice at the stop sign to merge onto the main road, and her fingers clench around the wheel, but she gains enough control to merge onto the empty road. It’s slow going, despite there being no one on the streets right now. The snow is thick and heavy, big and fat flakes flowing down to wrap her small car in a tornado of cold. 

 

She passes close enough to a bus stop to be able to make out a lone figure huddled inside, and her heart clenches. It’s cold to state the obvious, and whoever this poor person was was being buffeted by wind and ice with every gust. 

 

But then their hair gets blasted back by a particularly strong blow, and Rey practically freezes. 

 

Inwardly, she reprimands herself for that pun. Outwardly, her mouth drops. 

 

Because she’d know those raccoon eyes anywhere. It’s futzing Hot Topic Guy, freezing his skinny jeaned ass off. 

 

The bus stop passes as quickly as it’d come, disappearing back into the curtain of snow. Rey throws the car in reverse. 

 

It’s one of those split second decisions. The ones where it’s driven more by guilt and a stolen coffee than anything else. That’s what Rey tells herself, anyway. Even if she can hear Finn’s voice reciting that she has more than a little empathy. 

 

“Hey, Killjoy!” Rey yells, after unbuckling to clamber out of the car. Ice strikes her face like little daggers, and her nose burns as she scrunches it up. “You know the bus lines are closed, yeah?”

 

The guy stares at her, and Rey huffs and shuffles her way through the nearly half foot that’s accumulated and a snowbank to reach the bus stop. 

 

“The bus lines are closed,” she repeats, close enough now to see that he’s only got a sweatshirt on. She wonders what kind of guy is so committed to his image he picks a cheap Nirvana hoodie over an actual coat like any other human with common sense. “Unless you plan on walking wherever it is you need to go, I’d suggest just getting in the car.”

 

Hot Topic Guy stares as if she’s grown two heads. 

 

“I . . . I don’t know you,” he somehow manages to stutter out from between cold chapped lips.

 

Rey rolls her eyes. “I serve you coffee at least three times a week. I’m not some random chick,”

 

“You c-could be a serial killer,” he counters, raising an eyebrow. “I-It’s always the q-quiet ones, you know,”

 

“Look, I just really want to see my cat and the Netflix logo. I don’t have to be offering right now,” 

 

The wind blows once more, harder than any of the gusts yet. He makes his decision, giving one last shudder before standing. 

 

She’s already buckled by the time he makes it to the passenger side, practically folding himself in half to fit in the tiny seat. Rey would probably be more amused if his lips weren’t practically blue. 

 

“Here,” she tosses a blanket at him. “Try and warm up.”

 

His legs shift, and this time she sees that the idiot had decided to wear low cut Vans. She sighs. 

 

“Kick your shoes off, too,” she orders. “Wet socks aren’t going to be doing you any favors,”

 

He stares at her. “Well then what am I supposed to do? Go barefoot?”

 

“There’s socks in the glove compartment,” she returns, shifting the car into drive and hesitantly inching forward. 

 

There’s a click as he pops open the compartment, and she can practically feel the scorn dripping off his words. 

 

“They have mice on them,” he declares flatly. 

 

Rey rolls her eyes. “Yeah, and they’re going to make sure you live to see MCR’s return. Put ‘em on,”

 

He blows out a huff, and tugs them on anyway. Rey bites her cheek to keep from laughing at the contrast of his outfit. 

 

“Where to?” she asks after a moment. 

 

“I live up in Hillside,” he manages, rubbing his palms together. “Walden Street,”

 

Rey’s teeth clench. “I can’t get up there. Too far,”

 

He nods. “It’s fine. You can drop me wherever. I’m sure there’s an Uber or something around here somewhere.”

 

She can’t help the disbelieving laugh. “If you think an Uber’s gonna come out in this for a measly twenty bucks, you’re dead wrong,”

 

Hot Topic Guy glares out the window. “Okay, so taxis. There’s a McDonalds up the road, you can just dump me there. I can find a ride,”

 

“You’re new here, aren’t you?” she asks, tilting to look at him.

 

He shifts uncomfortably. “Maybe,”

 

“Yeah,” she nods, decided. “It actually makes a lot more sense. Getting caught in a blizzard in a hoodie. Actually believing this town has cab services.”

 

He’s silent. 

 

“Look, I live maybe five minutes from here.” Rey sighs, wondering if she’s going to regret this.  “You’re welcome to come crash for the night, so long as you don’t mind cats and you aren’t gonna murder me in my sleep,”

 

He shifts to look at her. “Cats are fine. It’s people I can’t stand,”

 

“That sounds promising,” she mutters, throwing her blinker on. “So that’s a yes, then?”

 

He blows out a breath. “Yeah. If it’s not too much of an inconvenience.”

 

“Not at all,” she bites her tongue. “My name’s Rey,”

 

She dares to let go of the wheel long enough to throw her hand out between them. It takes a moment, but soon enough she feels his cool damp hand meet hers. “Kylo,”

 

Yeah, it’s gonna be a long night. 


	2. Chapter 2

Getting inside is more of a feat than Rey thinks she’s ever managed out here. The snow’s well up to her mid calf by now, and it enjoys covering up the parking spaces around her tiny apartment complex. She takes a vague guess at where the lines are, and crams her car in. 

 

Kylo’s teeth are chattering, still, even with his hood tugged tight over his ears and her spare blanket wrapped over his shoulders. Rey almost feels sympathetic. 

 

“Okay, so it’s looking like Marv’s good for nothing ass hasn’t got out here to shovel yet,” she mutters, glaring at the endless spread of smooth snow where the sidewalk should be. “I swear the landlord said he’s supposed to do it twice a day, but he barely manages once on a good day,”

 

He doesn’t answer, instead cramming his feet into his sopping wet shoes, not bothering to lace them up. 

 

“Follow me,” she tells him, settling her zip up as far up to her chin as it will go, and then pushing the door open. She’s immediately met with a face full of bits of ice, but she blinks and forces the car door shut amidst the wind’s push. 

 

Not bothering to see if Kylo’s behind her, she immediately takes off running for the entrance. Rey skids a few times on the way there, but apparently all the years spent up in the mountains are still good for something, and she makes it to the entry in record time. 

 

However, it’s a good half a minute or so before Kylo shows up. Rey huddles into a corner by the door, waiting impatiently. “Glad you could finally --”

 

She cuts off at the sight of blood trailing from between his fingers, his hand clutched tight to his nose. Her mouth drops open in shock. 

 

“Black ice,” he mutters, and she’s not sure if his cheeks are red from the cold or embarrassment. “Can we please just get inside?”

 

Rey fights the urge to roll her eyes, but nonetheless swipes her card and the two of them hurry into the foyer and then the elevator. 

 

Only then, with the key for floor six pressed, does she pull some kleenex from her pocket, offering it up. “Let me see,” she mutters, pushing his hand away and a tissue into it. Begrudgingly, he lets her. “I don’t think it’s broken, just bloody.” she mutters after a moment of gentle feeling, and Kylo sighs. 

 

“I could’ve told you that,” he mutters, but Rey glares at him. 

 

“Well then, I’m sorry for taking pity on your scrawny ass,”

 

Arms crossed, Rey pushes out of the elevator as soon as the doors open, again not looking to see if he’s behind her. She marches down to the end of the hallway at door six, and jams her key angrily into the lock. 

 

It’s one thing to be an ass about customer service, but a whole other when that same barista just saved you from freezing solid in a bus stop and tried to make sure that your already frankly large nose isn’t too badly damaged. Rey’s regretting this the longer he sticks around. And it’s barely been forty five minutes, tops. 

 

Porg is waiting at the door, his chubby cheeks ready to rub against her legs the moment she steps inside. He only manages a single brush before scampering off towards the bed, yowling at the melted snow on his whiskers. Rey sighs. 

 

“Well, this is it,” she speaks loudly enough so Kylo can hear her as she sheds layers on the way to the kitchen. “Feel free to sit down, or whatever,”

 

She doesn’t pay him any attention, digging under her sink for the first aid kit Luke had forced on her the day she moved out. It’s a ridiculously oversized thing, bright red with a stamped white cross on the side. Rey’s quite confident it wouldn’t pass on most airlines. 

 

Her eyes catch on her cramp heating pad, and she tosses that in the microwave as well. Always feels nice, anyways. 

 

Kylo’s sitting on the very edge of the couch, still nursing his nose. Luckily, the bleeding seems to have stemmed a bit, and he doesn’t seem quite as tense. He’s even taken Porg up on a staring contest, the fluffy creature perched on the coffee table and glaring with his big eyes. 

 

Rey grins. “Well, at least someone seems content with you,” she comments, watching as Porg decides he’s had enough, blinking his big eyes and hopping down to rub in between Kylo’s long legs. 

 

She busies herself with digging in her kit, coming up with an instant cold pack. “Here, this should work,” 

 

Kylo takes it, still silent, and presses it over his nose. She tries not to snort. 

 

The microwave beeps, and she hops up to grab her pad, only to return to a very content Porg laying in Kylo’s lap. Her eyebrows raise up, but she makes no comment. 

 

“This should be nice for your feet. I’m sure they’re halfway frozen by now,”

 

She doesn’t wait for a reply, throwing the sack over his bare feet. He hisses, to Porg’s dismay, but after a moment sighs in relief. 

 

“Thank you,” he manages, running a hand over the cat’s silky coat. “It’s . . . nice.”

 

When Rey offers no further comment, he presses. “What is it?”

 

“A period cramp pad,” she replies with a tilt of her head, watching him. 

 

But instead of reacting with shock or disgust -- as she’d come to expect from most guys -- he simply nods. “Makes sense. But what is it made of?”

 

“It’s technically a rice bag,” she shrugs, trying to seem unphased. A woman in Luke’s tiny village had once taught her to make the things and stuff them with all manner of herbs and oil blends. “You make them out of rice and fabric scraps. Some people use them for bumps and bruises and headaches and the like, but they’re also really nice for aches and cold days,”

 

“It’s nice,” he repeats, a bit less lost this time, and she offers him a thin smile. 

 

They lapse into an awkward silence, broken only by Porg’s purrs of contentment. 

 

Rey wonders if he knows that his dark clothing is being tainted by cat hair. And then she wonders again how much the blacks and greys actually represent about his personality. Surely anyone who can make friends with a fat cat in less than ten minutes isn’t that bad of a person. Even if that person is at least partially an confirmed asshole. 

 

Really, she just wonders about the other percentage of his personality. 

 

“His name is Porg,” she supplies after a handful of awkward minutes, beginning to pull her hair out of its buns. 

 

His brows furrow, and he turns to her with questions written in his usually stony features. 

 

“Pudge Of Royal Genes,” she supplies, blushing. “It was actually my friends’ idea, and I figured it was a bit more clever than just calling him Pudge like I wanted. And he is, actually, a descendant of the queen’s cats, so . . . “

 

Rey trails off, realizing she’d gone on another rant in two seconds flat. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to--”

 

“No, no,” he jumps, voice soft. “It’s . . . interesting,”

 

Somehow, she’s not sure if he’s lying or not. It’s for her benefit, either way. And really, he doesn’t have to try so hard. But he is, asking her question, and it’s almost sweet. Maybe the guy does have a heart under all those Slipknot tees, afterall. 

 

“So, uh, other than work at Hot Topic, what do you do?” she asks, leaning back against the couch pillows. It’s getting later, and Rey’s always been more of a morning bird than a night owl. Maybe it’s the hour that makes her feel more brave, and she decides to use that excuse. She pointedly ignores the 8:57 reading on the clock out of the corner of her eye. 

 

“I play bass guitar,” he offers, shrugging. “It’s just a hobby, though.”

 

“That’s cool,” Rey nods, and she finds she’s not just saying it for his amusement. “Any favorite artists?”

 

“Maybe,” he mutters, flushing red. 

 

She leans forward, into his line of sight, and he stares down at her. It only takes a moment before he sighs. 

 

“Flea. Red Hot Chili Peppers,”

 

Rey lets out a cackle. “Seriously? Like, good choice obviously, but I would not have expected that from you of all people,”

 

“They’re a great band,” he retorts, a tad defensively (and needlessly), but Rey can see the smile ticking up the sides of his mouth. 

 

“Yeah,” she agrees softly, “they are,”

 

* * *

 

After a meal of ramen from Rey’s sparse cupboard, made bearable by the family size sriracha bottle she keeps in the fridge and a pair of cheap beers, she tosses Kylo a blanket and a pillow and the remote to her Netflix account. 

 

“Just don’t mess up my recommendations, and don’t touch End Of The Fucking World,” she tells him. “I haven’t finished yet and I don’t want to lose my place.”

 

He nods in the dim light from the TV, and maybe it’s just the lighting but Rey decides he doesn’t look quite so scowly when he’s not dealing with customers and low caffeine. Almost kind, even. His lips are nice, and his eyes soulful, and there’s a smattering of freckles and beauty marks across his cheeks. It’s only interrupted by the swollen, red state of his nose. 

 

She catches herself staring, turning away quickly to hide any blush she might have. “Good night, Kylo,”

 

There’s a beat of silence, and then -- 

 

“It’s Ben,” 

 

Rey smiles, heart doing something funny in her chest. “Alright, then. Good night, Ben,”

 

“Sweet dreams, Rey,”

 

If she were any less infatuated with him, she might just have teased him for that. But instead, she finds herself ducking into her bedroom with Porg under her arm, trying not to blush again like the school girl she never was. 

 

* * *

 

Morning comes far too soon, and with it comes a distinct lack of a certain ball of chub and fluff in his usual place against Rey’s side. 

 

Kylo -- Ben, she corrects herself -- is the obvious culprit. But when she creeps out into the living room, it appears Porg had left her alone for the messy nest of black hair that spreads haphazardly over Ben’s pillow. 

 

“Damn cat,” she mutters, wondering if Porg had ever really loved her at all to run off to some guy with eyeliner just because he had the most beautiful hair she’d ever seen. But then she reminds herself she just might have done the same under different circumstances. 

 

Namely that of not being an asshole all the time, snapping at poor lovely Rose, and just generally being obnoxious. 

 

But he looks soft when he’s asleep, the lines in his face not as steep and angry, and even his brows look better when they’re not pinched. So she has to forgive him, if but for a sleepy moment, as she fights down the urge to snatch her cat back and return to bed until a much more hospitable hour. 

 

In the end, she leaves Porg be, and instead stumbles back to bed with her rice bag she’d managed to steal back from Ben, trying to warm her frozen toes. 

 

But warmth eludes her, even with an extra blanket and socks thrown on, and she shivers into her novel. 

 

_ Damned cat, leaving me to freeze. _

 

By eight thirty, it’s become a matter of clear life and death, and Rey snatches her Hufflepuff robe from the closet to dart into the living room and then kitchen to fix herself a cup of tea. 

 

The rattle of dried leaves in the tin is enough to rouse Porg, and she hears a pleased  _ meowr _ before the chubby beast walks right over Ben’s still sleeping face, a paw stuck firmly in his ear. She smothers a smile as he sits up with a hiss of pain and Porg leaps proudly to the floor. 

 

“I see my cat likes you,” she hums, setting the kettle on.

 

“Yeah, seems so,” Ben grouses, throwing the blankets off his legs. The cloth had hardly covered all of his feet, which hung off the couch. “He has no respect for personal space,”

 

Rey laughs. “No, not really. He does as he pleases,”

 

Porg himself settles down right by his dish, blinking up at each of them expectantly. 

 

“Mind getting him a dish? There’s a scoop in the bag right there.” Rey offers, tilting her chin towards the open cabinet. “Tea will be done in a minute, and then I can probably make pancakes or something,”

 

“Uh, yeah,” Ben says, voice rough with sleep as he pads to do as Rey bid. “And, uh, don’t feel obligated to cook or anything, I’ll be out of your hair as soon as possible,”

 

Rey cocks an eyebrow at him. “Uh, have you looked outside? Cause that just might put a dent in your plans.”

 

Ben drops the scoop in the bag and steps over to the singular window, pushing aside Rey’s brightly printed daisy drapes. There’s snow. Everywhere. Which is of course to be expected, but even at this height the cars are nothing more than slightly raised bumps and rifts of heavy white powder. 

 

“Holy shit,” he whispers, softly. 

 

“Same,” Rey mutters, focusing again on her task at hand. “Now, how do you feel about French toast?”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> guys i like seriously only estimated this to take two chapters but apparently these two aren't ready to smooch it out so it's gonna be at least three parts now
> 
> also i really didn't want to end it here but it's a reasonable place to stop and i've kept you all waiting for like a month and a half. if i waited any longer i'd be seventeen and dramatically more busy so here, hope you enjoyed
> 
> catch me on tumblr -- @awwcoffeenooooo. i'm lonely and really wouldn't mind talking about two certain galactic losers in love . . .

**Author's Note:**

> thank you if you've made it this far. this is my first time writing for these two, so any feedback is very much appreciated :)
> 
> come hang on Tumblr -- @/awwcoffeenooooo :D


End file.
